~ Tales by Lornadahl

Monthly Archives: March 2005

This month’s vaginal event: AT LAST, the arrival of Wanda. This month’s anal event: Anal sex with a tall, handsome man holding a sonogram. Ick! New euphemism for my poor vagina: "Inerts". No. of people whom I managed to spoil their momentum during the Pacquiao-Morales fight: 13/20.

Dear Niwee,

I could feel my hang over slowly wear off. Though I still have the remnants of that happy drug I inhaled elsewhere inside my head, I am starting to hear myself produce heavy sighs again. I am starting to see evil oodles that only a rebellious soul can plot. I am starting to spread sarcasm and negativity in the air again.

Hell, yeah. I need a break. I need to feel the kiss of sun again all over my lazy body. I need to feel the seawater soaking my pale skin again. I need to feel the sea breeze slapping my cheeks again. Heck, even a silent snap from a jellyfish AGAIN I would take!

But something tells me that escape is just procrastinating. When I get back, when the powerful grip of distraction lets go, it’s still sitting right in front of me and tapping its fingers impatiently as if it were a time bomb.

And that’s exactly what I feel. I feel like a volcanic eruption waiting to happen.

Too bad I’m not an excellent actress. I find it hard to shut up and calm down when a friend is declaring her press release/s. Don’t you just loathe the experience of being reduced from a trusted friend to a brainless viewer? Can you blame me if you find me splitting my pencil into half as I hear someone make contradicting details as if she were underestimating how well I’ve known her?

I have tolerated this endless fusion of fact and fiction for so long. If rolling my eyes were not enough, I open my mouth to its widest capacity to disgorge the rudest yawn ever. Worse, according to my friend’s observation, I tend to hoard what I have. "Noon lang kita nakitang magdamot, Lorna!" she recalled. If my memory served me right, it even reached to the point I kissed everyone goodbye but her.

Then there were friends who shower me with apologies for past errs only to repeat the same thing. Or, friends who repeat the same spiel but don’t do anything to bring back the old times.

I did not intend to be a monster. But what the fuck is the point calling someone your friend if you don’t trust her anymore? What’s the point of meeting up or going out of town with them when I know I won’t permit the day end without throwing snides?

Question is, what have I done to deserve this? Am I being too nice to be treated as such? Or am I being too demanding? Either way, I want a direct answer. If they want me to forget all about it out of convenience, then I’d go easy. If they want downgrade of friendship, then their wish is my command. If they want me to play along, then bugger off.

I was on vacation. I can’t remember where I was. But I remember the second leg of my dream: Walking side by side with tv host/actress/ex-presidential daughter Kris Aquino, I was determined to convince her to go with me in Catanduanes tomorrow. We were climbing a red-carpeted stairs. She was shocked. "But I’m pregnant!" she wailed in a top decibel while clutching her flat tummy, as if wanting the press people to hear. I nearly smacked my forehead for forgetting.

Then, she lifted the fabric covering her stomach and, in a matter of milliseconds, she was already sporting a hanging top. It looked semi-formal still. Fab! Knowing her, she is making her boyfriend angry and jealous. Boys of all forms were compelled to come over our place. The boyfriend walked away with his hands thrown up in the air.

The next scenario saw me itching to reach Bohol. One of my friends got married. After their car veered away, I found myself walking alone until krushie found me. Since I have no plan for the day, he asked me to join him go to Mini Stop. When he put his arm around my shoulder, I didn’t protest. Neither did I inch away when he pressed his lips against my hair. I found the courage to place an arm around him and press him for a quick hug. When we entered the glass doors, he showed me his keychain. It was like pandesal. I bit it. It WAS pandesal! I returned it to him. After all, it was his keychain.

Minutes after, our other friends showed up one by one. We didn’t agree on meeting actually. Our casual talk led to a brainstorming for an evil plot for an authority.

I know I owe you lavish amounts of attention. Whenever I visit you, I just shake my head and curse myself for my lame attempt for photoblogging. Don’t worry, sweetie, this offensive experiment will not continue; my Cybershot demanded repose and recoiled from my attention.

But I can’t let February bid farewell without an entry. It has been pretty spiritual. I finally felt the scorching kisses of the sun, rendering my cold heart warm. I felt the dips to salt water wash away my bitterness. It was too soothing I find blogging about January woes pointless.

I missed you.

March, it is. Although I enjoyed my recent trips in Oriental Mindoro and Cebu, there were take-home thoughts I have to unpack.

1. Chinovela turns reality.

Thanks to firefloss for rubbing off her racial intolerance towards Koreans to me. Back in college, having Korean classmates around is OK. In fact, I made a segment about them, their ways of adjusting to the local scene, on my audio-visual project.

Staying in Lahug was an eye opener. I had the unfortunate experience of having my personal space violated by a throng of Koreans on the elevator. Their united effort to transform the hotel into a palengke was astounding. Plus, one guy had the nerve to converse to me in his dialect. When I reciprocated with a creased forehead, he condescendingly concluded, "You don’t understand?". I was too amazed he managed to express that in declarative AND interrogative sentence that the realization it was actually insulting surfaced moments after.

Sure, it is easy to laugh at them for considering long sleeved tops and long dresses as beachwear and for witnessing one pour banana syrup over rice. But I doubt if you’d go on snickering that way if you see what I saw: hotel items, mall signs, ROAD signs with Korean translations. They even have a multitude of restaurants specializing on their food! I remember having my buffet breakfast hoping more Pinoys would come over, just to assure myself I’m still in the Philippines.

We have a new colonizer.

2. Pirated sand.

And so gumpaste and I failed to appear as stay-in customers in Shangri-La Mactan and we have to settle PhP1,500 before we can use the beach. That includes free lunch and free towel. With our full stomach and full backpack , we indignantly marched out. That’s nuts!

Before the day ended, while we’re in Olango Island, we convinced ourselves it’s for the best. "Kung totoong white sand ‘yon (Shangri-La) edi dapat white sand din dito (Tambuli)!" gumpaste lamented. "Pekeng white sand!" Officemate Mark is an eye witness when white sand from Bohol were poured over to conceal the kayumangging buhangin. Even Samal Island in Davao owes its Snow White appeal from Bohol. Now you understand my itch to reach Panglao before portable Bohol is available in SM Bacoor/Molino. (That’s another story.)

Hypocrisy aside, I’m one sand klepto bordering on sentimental schmuck. In fact, I nearly got left in Puerto Galera with only PhP15 on my pocket due to my pristine desire to have my own sample. When firefloss admitted she only had PhP8 left, we agreed to forget it. Luckily, I was triumphant to have a souvenir from Cebu. But Nature’s wrath is inevitable, my sand turned grey.

Oh well. Gotta stick to stealing road signs then.

3. Where next?!

Believe it or not, I have fallen in love with the Philippines. The closet patriot has been released. But I’m not saying we forget my old rantings, all right? I just decided I want to tour and re-tour it before I reach 30/deathbed. I want to send postcards of me doing Halasana at the summit of Mt. Halcon, kissing the humpback whales in Aparri, panic eating lansones in Camiguin, making love in Sagada, star gazing in Panglao…